As Good As You Get
by peroxidepest17
Summary: Watanuki really pisses Doumeki the hell off.


**Title:** As Good as You Get  
**Universe:** XXXHolic  
**Theme/Topic:** Wild Side  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Character/Pairing/s:** vaguely DoumekixWatanuki  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None I can imagine. Though I warn for the usual OOC and stupidity.  
**Word Count: **1,696  
**Summary:** Watanuki really pisses Doumeki the hell off.  
**Dedication:** Requested by jeina. Also for swinku- SLEEP DAMMIT.  
**A/N:** Out of character for Doumeki? Probably. I don't really care at this point. LOL I am still tired in my bones from the film shoot, okay? I wanted to get the last request DONE.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, though I wish constantly.  
**Distribution:** Just lemme know.

* * *

Everyone always praised you for being a calm person, rational, reasonable, deliberate. They said it was a sign of your maturity that you never overreacted, that you stopped to work things through before you did anything-- that you were quiet and polite and never seemed surprised at anything.

A very mature boy.

Your whole life—a calm, thoughtful young man.

And that all got thrown completely out the window the moment Watanuki walked into your life.

Because Watanuki drives you crazy.

There has never been anyone in the world, you think, that drives you crazier than Watanuki Kimihiro. It had been a bit unsettling to realize this at first, but now you can see it there, know it for what it is and try to deal with it accordingly. It's still hard though, to look at that stupid, open face of his, to listen to those spur of the moment, thoughtless words and watch those hasty, jumpy, _twitchy _actions.

You don't know what to do with him most of the time, honestly.

And he's never any help on the matter either.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" you say by rote, and you're looking down at him and his clothes are torn and there is _blood_ on the ground and you feel something very much like anger—hot and irrational—swelling up in your gut, like a swarm of butterflies.

"Like you're angry."

"I'm not angry," you say before you think, and isn't that still weird and new and uncomfortable whenever you do it? Why it's only with _him _you'll never know Even worse, you know that part of you does it simply because you don't want him to feel bad even if you _are_ angry, even though you're furious enough that this may be the first time in your life you've ever contemplated hitting or punching or kicking something purely out of anger. "You were supposed to wait for me," you tell him instead, and it's only by the very slight furrowing of your brow that he can tell you're actually angry.

"You had practice, I didn't think it would be a big deal," he says, and tries to sound waspish and defensive even though it comes out all apologetic instead.

It is a big deal. You wish he'd hurry up and figure that out already. "Next time just call me. I can leave early."

"I don't need you to baby sit me all the time!" he shouts back, and there he goes again, working that mouth of his without thinking, just _saying_, and does he even understand the words that are coming out of his mouth? That he could _die_ one of these days because he's stupid and irrational and hasn't thought any of this through properly?

It really pisses you off.

You bite the inside of your cheek just so you don't do something weird, and you stare at him for a while.

He looks at the ground when you do that, and some of the bluster escapes from him. "I'm okay. Stop looking at me like that."

"There's blood," you point out, because at this point doing anything other than stating the obvious might make you act oddly, make you do or say things that no mature, rational, calm young man would ever be expected to do. "You're bleeding."

"I can walk," he snipes back, and struggles to stand.

You take your jacket off and drape it over his shoulders because it's cold and his clothes are ripped. He looks like he's going to protest automatically (without _thinki_ng again— it's not like _you_ need two layers when he's only got _none_), but before he can do or say anything like that and further irritate you, you bend down and pick him up.

He squawks and forgets what he was going to say. "What are you doing!?" he demands instead, and you think there will be blood all over the front of your shirt after the two of you are through. Your mother worries when she does the laundry and sees those kinds of things.

It kind of pisses you off that Watanuki makes your mother worry, too. "I'm picking you up," you tell him, because you're still in that place where the only safe things you can say right now are the things that are right in front of your face.

"I _know_ that!" he protests. "_Why_?"

"You're bleeding."

"YOU ALREADY SAID THAT."

"The whole neighborhood can hear you."

He blinks at that, looks cowed enough to settle a little in your arms. "Sorry." Pause. "Not to you. To the neighborhood," he adds, and sniffs a little. His head is tucked under your chin and you can feel his hair tickling your throat.

You want to shake him, or bop him upside the head, or _something_. You do the next best thing. "We're going to my house."

"WHAT?!"

You look at him--dully. His cries echo down the street, bouncing off the walls of the homes, one after another.

A beat later he realizes what he's done and claps his hands over the front of his face like it's not too late already. Then he waits a moment—tense—as if he expects someone to come out and arrest him for being noisy or something. He's an idiot like that.

"What?" he asks again after he thinks the coast is clear, and it's in a whisper this time, like he needed to repeat himself just so you'd understand.

You sigh and shift your arms around his waist and legs a little bit, because all his spazzing and squirming just now made your grip on him slip a little bit. "We're going to my house," you repeat, because if he's going to keep repeating himself you might as well too.

So you know, you don't do those _other _things. Those irrational things that only he can make you want to do.

He really is an insufferable idiot.

He begins to get impatient with you, and that's hardly fair, all things considered. "I _know_ that. You _said that already. _I understand the _concept _of going to your house, you Neanderthal." He scowls then, wiggles slightly as he feels your hands shift under him while you're trying to get a better grip. "_Why _are we going to your house?"

"You're bleeding."

"Would you stop saying that!? I KNOW."

"Then stop asking stupid questions," you tell him, and it may or may not have come out more irritated than you'd meant it.

To be fair, he's pissed you off more tonight than you'd ever been in your entire lifetime before. You're pretty sure anyway. Or maybe it just feels like that _every_ time he pulls something idiotic like this. You aren't sure.

He looks apologetic again when he hears your tone though, turning his eyes down and looking at the front of your shirt. Which will undoubtedly be stained with blood when you put him down.

"Sorry," he murmurs, just like that. Like it's that easy and sorry will somehow make you forget the fact that he's still bleeding all over you and how he could have _died_ tonight because he is exactly the kind of idiot who would think it was better to get clawed to death by some big ugly in the dark than bother you away from a practice you don't really need to go to anyway.

That's his problem. He doesn't think. Doesn't have his priorities in the right place. It drives you insane.

So even if he apologizes until he can't talk anymore—or sits in your arms sulking to himself like a kicked puppy-- you're still going to be _mad_. You still want to bop him on the head or shake him. Or something like that. You really don't know—he's the only one who can do this to you, after all.

He fidgets in your grip as you get nearer and nearer to the temple, and in the distance you can see that there's a light on in the kitchen. That lets you know at the very least, that your mother is still up and about and there's probably dinner all ready to be warmed for you. She'll undoubtedly have more than enough for two, even with Watanuki dropping in unannounced.

"Hey," he starts, and gets more adamant in his protests as he sees the lights on at home too, "it's okay… I don't want to bother…"

"Shut up," you say, before you can stop yourself. Because you know what he'd been about to say, know that he didn't want to bug anyone and that he'd rather bleed himself to death on the floor of his house _alone_ than god forbid, _inconvenience_ another human being.

"I don't want to bother your _family_," he finishes anyway—softly-- and is more surprised at your words—or maybe your vehemence-- than anything else.

He really pisses you off sometimes. The one human being in all the world.

You want to reach out and smack his head, to try and bully some sense into it.

You end up lowering your chin a little bit instead though, and then you can suddenly feel his hair brushing against your lips. "Just shut up for a second," you repeat, gentler this time. "There's blood on my shirt."

"I'm _sorry_ okay, just…"

You ignore him. "So when my mom asks about it, this way _you_ can explain why."

A beat.

"OH SO THAT WAS IT, ALL ALONG, WAS IT?!"

"And while you're here you can give my mom the recipe for the nikuman you made the other day," you add, because it seems like the thing to do.

He bristles and smacks you in the head a couple of times.

"I HATE YOU, YOU CRETIN. PUT ME DOWN."

And despite everything, seeing him like that makes you grin a little bit.

Enough that even though you're still mad at him for being an _idiot _tonight, you let yourself take some comfort in the fact that as much as this well-meaning fool can piss you off, you don't ever have to take it lying down.

You can always give as good as you get.

Sometimes better.

**END**


End file.
